Taut
by Futago no Seishi
Summary: Highschool: a place of education and improvement. But beneath it all, it's a time of rampant desires and foolish mistakesand there's so much tension, Yami scarcely knows what to make of it. [YAOI Seto x Yami x Bakura]
1. Part One

**Pairing**: Seto x Yami x Bakura

**Genre**: AU, drama, angst

**Rating**: R

**Words**: 1541

**Part**: 1/3

**Dedication**: Once again, for LilPurplFlwr, because she gave me the idea that spawned this little creation. And simply because we're Yu-Gi-Oh fanatics (and she's so awesome, I want to cuddle her). Go read her writing right now, and that's an order.

**Warnings**: YAOI (that'd be boy x boy... but that's what you're here for, isn't it?), sexual situations between minors.

**Summary**: Highschool: a place of education and improvement. But beneath it all, it's a time of rampant desires and foolish mistakes—and there's so much tension, Yami scarcely knows what to make of it. YAOI - Seto x Yami x Bakura

**A/N**: If highschool boys getting sexual is a problem for you, I suggest you hit the back button promptly. If not, please, make yourself comfortable and enjoy the show.

**Taut**

Part One

Ninety-eight percent.

Yami lifted the test nonchalantly, slender fingers flipping through the pages of calculus to check his answers absently. It was a stupid mistake, really, that had cost him the perfect score, and it was a terribly sore spot on his mind as he stared at the single red blemish upon his pristine paper. It was simply a mistake with a negative sign, and once more, Seto had beat him.

Seto. Seto always seemed to beat him in calculus.

Besides him, the brunette reclined indolently in his seat, head tilted back to expose the slender column of his throat. Besides him, a few girls were fawning over the stretch of pale skin and sinew. Yami, on the other hand, was merely glowering at the perfect 100 that stood out in crimson ink on the front of the other boy's exam.

Sighing softly to himself, Yami stared back down at his test, resigning himself to the post of second-best once more. But a soft smile eventually curved his lips as his crimson eyes landed upon the clock, the hands ticking slowly along above the monotone drone of his teacher's voice.

In ten minutes the period ended, and history would begin. Then Seto would be the one below Yami.

"Don't you ever get tired of being such a frigid bitch?"

The locker slammed shut with a metallic bang as Yami turned his head to face the speaker. Seto merely smiled sardonically at him as he leaned against the grey lockers besides the considerably shorter boy.

"I was just wondering the same thing about you—except I'd replace bitch with cocky bastard."

Full lips parted briefly in a chuckle before Seto leaned closer, invading Yami's personal space—the protective bubble of air and silence which he carried religiously around him. When their faces were level, the taller boy abruptly stopped. So there they stood, staring at each other with a mere few inches separating their longing lips.

"Cocky. Interesting word choice there, Yami."

The younger boy snorted derisively, turning his head away and pointedly ignoring the looming figure before him. "Don't you have somewhere to go?" he asked impatiently.

"Of course; but I'd much rather bother you."

Soft velvet brushed against the corner of Yami's lips, and shutting his eyes softly, he returned the kiss briefly. The touch was quick and impersonal, just like the relationship between the two boys.

"Gee, I feel honored," he finally replied. Stepping away, he brushed some golden bangs out of his eyes irritably before grabbing his backpack, slinging the pack firmly over his shoulders. Then without another word to the brunette, he proceeded to calmly walk away, head lifted and eyes carefully aimed anywhere but near Seto.

He was nearly down the empty hallway when the other's voice rang out, cool and collected. "Tonight," he said, and it wasn't a question—rather, an assertion, full of arrogant confidence, just like Seto, and it aggravated Yami to no end.

There was a stretch of silence as he formulated his reply. "Fine," he finally said, and disappeared down the corridor and out the front entrance of the school.

* * *

They always met at the same place at the same time.

At one o'clock early Saturday morning, Yami would wait patiently by the tallest slide in the park near his house. He would sit at the base of the slide, booted feet kicking idly at the sand while he waited for the object of his muddled affections to appear.

At one ten, on the dot, Seto would appear, his typical trench coat billowing around him in the night breeze in a strangely comical way. It always made Yami smirk without fail, and the very grin would then be wiped from his lips by Seto's hungry mouth, robbing him of his breath while he was at it.

At one twenty-three, they were usually breathless and covered in sand, somehow having fallen off of the slide and down into the scratchy debris beneath. But when two adolescent boys with typically hormonally charged bodies have a chance to grope wildly at each other, sand seems like a very small inconvenience. And that's why they would remain a tangled mess of limbs, clothing, and passions on the park bottom for quite some time thereafter.

At one thirty-one, Seto would groan as he thrust his hips firmly against Yami's thigh, encased firmly in soft, time-worn leather. Yami would then hiss softly and bite down upon Seto's neck, muffling the sound of his own pleasure as they settled into a pattern. Thrust, retreat, and they would continue gyrating until their breaths stuck in the sticky passage of their throats and their hearts danced in time with the ever present need coursing through their blood.

At one thirty-nine, Seto would abruptly jerk away, panting. Yami would then sprawl out upon the sand, his own breathing labored and a tense sensation trickling all the way up his stomach. The stars spread out dimly above them, and by one forty-two, Seto would be gone.

One forty-seven saw Yami climbing back into the window of his bedroom, brushing sand and bitter expectations off from his clothing.

* * *

"Hey, you."

A slender eyebrow arched as Yami turned around, the sound of the voice oddly alluring—securing his attention in the manner that a dream catcher clings to the nightmares that would sneak upon us, holding it tight and swallowing it whole.

In a crook by the wall between two sets of lockers stood a boy. He was around Yami's age, as far as he could tell, and was considerably taller. Slender build and striking platinum hair—and Yami lost his train of thought as a devilish smirk curled the wan lips of the other boy.

"Find something interesting?" the stranger inquired, the pink tip of his tongue sticking out lewdly to wet his lips.

Yami turned his head away coolly, arms crossing before him in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "What do you want?"

"To know if you're free Friday evening."

The question received a blank stare, and Yami merely looked bored as he watched the other boy. "Excuse me?"

"A date," the boy in black replied, flicking a luxurious strand of silver away from his eyes. They were lined thickly in kohl, exaggerating the smoky appearance of his eyes—and Yami couldn't help but think that it was very possible to drown within them.

One, two, three. Yami counted mentally to regain his composure before shrugging nonchalantly, turning and preparing to walk away (though he was finding it dreadfully difficult to do so). "What if I'm not interested?"

"Oh," the other started knowingly, his voice sultry and convincing, "but you are."

Yami walked down the hallway in silence, leaving the image of the smirking boy imprinted upon the canvas of his mind.

* * *

_You were talking to Bakura._

Across the page it sprawled, in soft loops and crisp lines. Yami stared at the note in his hand, eyes skimming over Seto's handwriting curiously. Grabbing his own pen, he quickly scrawled a reply—a single word, a terse inquiry, before sending the note back to its original owner.

_So?_

Scritch scratch went the pens and pencils around the room as the teacher lectured endlessly. The sound of Seto's own pen blended into the chorus around them, and Yami couldn't help but watch the shadows play across his cheeks as he wrote.

Their fingers touched momentarily as the note was handed back, and a painful sort of sensation crawled into the pit of his stomach as he thought of the other night

_So why? You aren't known to hang around with delinquents._

A slight smirk curved the shorter boy's lips as he read.

_Are you jealous?_

_Of course not. I'm merely curious._

Curious, of course, translated into envy in the mental dictionary Yami had formulated from years of Seto's companionship. Somehow, it didn't seem as pleasing a feeling as he had expected, finding out that maybe he mattered more to Seto than just the occasional grope. After a bit of thought, he figured it was merely a possessive nature—it fit the compulsive personality of the brunette.

Seto was watching him as he wrote. He could feel the eyes upon his neck, and it unnerved him to no end, that intense stare.

_Whatever you say, Seto. So how do you know him, anyway?_

_I tutor him._

Well, that somehow complicated things an awful lot.

_I see._

There was nothing else to say, after all. Seto was even tutoring more students than he was now.

_And just how did you meet him?_

_That was the first time I spoke to him. I didn't even know his name until you told me_.

When the note was handed back, Seto merely stared at it for a moment, pen dangling lifelessly between his elegant fingers. Yami returned to the study of his notebook, mind too preoccupied to pay any heed to the words spilling from his teacher's lips.

The reply he received, written as impeccably as all the others, made Yami want to hit Seto. It made him want to connect his fist to that perfect, sculpted face and feel flesh and bone crumple beneath his hand.

_Stay away from him_.

Yami hated being told what to do.

**-TBC-**


	2. Part Two

**Pairing**: Seto x Yami x Bakura

**Genre**: AU, drama, angst

**Rating**: R

**Words**: 1321

**Part**: 2/3

**Dedication**: Once again, for LilPurplFlwr, because she gave me the idea that spawned this little creation. And simply because we're Yu-Gi-Oh fanatics (and she's so awesome, I want to cuddle her). Go read her writing right now, and that's an order.

**Warnings**: YAOI (that'd be boy x boy... but that's what you're here for, isn't it?), sexual situations between minors.

**Summary**: Highschool: a place of education and improvement. But beneath it all, it's a time of rampant desires and foolish mistakes—and there's so much tension, Yami scarcely knows what to make of it. YAOI - Seto x Yami x Bakura

**A/N**: Just want to thank all the lovely souls who reviewed this measly offering of fanfiction. You have no idea how much it brightens my day to receive a review.

**Taut**

Part Two

Bakura, like most delinquents, was often suspended.

This time it happened to be for smoking. A sneak had informed a teacher that Bakura and his group were just behind the back entrance to the school, smoking during sixth period. That unfortunate student was soon to become well acquainted with Bakura's fists when the boy returned to school.

After all, Bakura really hated tattle-tales.

So Bakura was forbidden to step within the boundaries of the school for three days. Of course, that didn't stop him.

When Yami found him, Bakura was in the midst of writing random profanities upon the wall using cans of spray paint in vibrant hues. The cough the shorter boy emitted from the fumes alerted the other of his presence, and the scowl that had been upon his face warped into a pleased grin.

"Yami."

"Bakura," the other replied, books clutched habitually in his arms.

An interested look crept upon the taller boy's face as he regarded Yami. "How did you get my name?"

White lies never hurt anyone, Yami rationalized, as he spoke. "It's hard not to hear about you."

Bakura chuckled lowly before he turned back to the wall, a metallic clank sounding from the can clutched in his hand before he resumed his previous task. "Ah." The long stem of the F was finished, and on to the next letter he went. "So, just why are you here?"

Yami watched the other boy with interest. His hair was long and tangled around his shoulders by the wind, and it contrasted greatly with the dark coat which wrapped snugly around the other boy's shoulders.

"I've been considering your offer."

That statement proved important enough to distract Bakura from his vandalizing. The taller boy turned, eyes heavy as they landed upon him. Yami suddenly felt horribly bared beneath that penetrating gaze, and the sensation was thrilling—addicting, and he wanted to be stripped and discovered by this boy.

"Have you?" One step, two—and suddenly Bakura was next to him, breath hot against his ear and desire wrapping insidiously around his mind.

"I have. How about Friday at nine?"

A feral smirk and a soft hand pressed against the sensitive curve of his lower back. "Just perfect."

* * *

Soft lips and hard desires.

Their mouths met in fierce opposition, each vying for domination over the other. Yami's back ached from where he was slammed against the side of the building, and his lips burned from the teeth that sunk firmly into them. He imagined blood filling the cavern of his mouth, and somehow it felt so intimate he could scarcely handle it.

Bakura was rough—he humiliated him in the best possible way, and he couldn't help but groan as his head was yanked backwards. His bruised lips parted for a gasp of air, and he whimpered as teeth dragged along the delicate skin of his throat.

Seto never made him feel like this.

Seto was careful to be gentle with him. Yet, at the same time, his passion seemed to overflow and threaten to smother his very being. It was like heated wax, his attention—the type that feels cool upon the first touch (that initial shock) before the sharp burn spreads across one's skin.

Bakura's passion tasted of blood and metal. If Yami could visualize each and every kiss, he would imagine them slicing deep into him—cutting through layers of flesh and bone like butter to carve at the malleable gold of his soul. He felt desecrated and violated, and it was a form of worship all in itself.

As Bakura clutched possessively at his hip, he couldn't decide who made him feel more alive.

* * *

"You didn't come last night."

Seto's voice was strained over the telephone, quiet and composed—but the tension was there in the intonation, a slightly pitched lilt that gave his words a tense quality.

Yami stared into the mirror at the angry teeth marks lining his neck, and felt terribly guilty.

"Your point?" he finally asked quietly.

"You always show," was the confident yet perplexed statement he received in reply. The memory of Bakura's rough hands upon the sensitive skin of his thighs haunted his mind as he listened to the deep baritone of Seto's voice.

"Well, obviously with the exception of last night."

"Why?" Seto finally asked after a stretch of silence spread out thinly between them, pushing them further and further apart. He sounded so genuinely hurt that Yami almost wished his escapade with Bakura never occurred. Almost.

Attempting to push the emotion away from his mind, he turned from the mirror and sat down upon his bed. "I didn't want to go. Not last night."

"… I see."

As Seto hung up on him, his cell phone began to ring. The caller ID displayed Bakura's name in neat text across the screen.

* * *

Smoke billowed out from between Bakura's lips, and in that nebulous mist, Yami could see his demise.

It was the first time he had skipped class. He found himself thinking of the calculus lesson he was missing as Bakura's lips ran absently over the dip above his collar bone. Each hot breath that skimmed across his damp skin reminded him of parabolas and tangents, and he thought of the intersection between Seto, Bakura, and himself.

They were sitting on the floor of the boy's locker room, clothing scattered around their feet like discarded memories. Bakura's arms wrapped around his waist possessively, and he leaned back against the firm chest behind him, inhaling the scent of sex. It permeated the room, a musky, pungent flavor, tainting the white walls just a bit further.

"I should go back," he said finally, lips pressed gently against the cord of muscle in Bakura's neck.

"Stay a little while longer." The words were breathed into his ear, air tickling his skin and sending little tendrils of sensation twining down his spine. He shifted closer and burrowed his face into the other's neck, mesmerized by the scent that was Bakura. It was a mixture of cigarettes and spice and something inherently dark, and he expected to find blood upon his lips every time he kissed the other.

Their damp skin clung together, a sticky mass of limbs and unsaid words—but Yami simply couldn't pull away, no matter how hard he tried.

"Alright," he murmured, losing himself just a little further.

* * *

"We need to talk."

The words were simple and frank. Signature Seto: terse and to the point, never dancing around the topic. The boy always had a way of nailing subjects head on, and now was no exception.

Yami couldn't bring himself to meet the other's eyes as they sat on the floor of his bedroom.

"About what?"

"You know perfectly well what I want to discuss."

Yami kept his silence and studied the suddenly interesting pattern of his carpeting.

"I told you to stay away from him." Seto spoke authoritatively.

"And you know I hate being told what to do." Yami's head lifted and their eyes met in a clash of crimson and azure. They kept a solid distance between themselves, sitting on nearly opposite sides of the small, cramped room.

"Yami, he's not good for you."

"Oh, and the one-sided relationship we have going on is any better?"

Seto looked momentarily baffled. "Excuse me?"

Yami sighed as he shook his head, strands of blond falling down to shade his eyes. "You. You make me feel like I'm nothing but an occasional fuck."

There was momentary silence before a sharp bark of laugher spilled forth from Seto's lips. "What? And fucking around with Bakura is better how?"

"You know what Seto, just forget it. Forget it and get the hell out of my house."

Seto looked at him levelly for a moment before replying softly, "Fine."

The door slammed shut a few seconds later, and Yami wasn't prepared for the onslaught of loneliness that swamped him upon Seto's departure.

**-TBC-**


	3. Part Three

**Pairing**: Seto x Yami x Bakura

**Genre**: AU, drama, angst

**Rating**: R

**Words**: 1588

**Part**: 3/3

**Dedication**: Once again, for LilPurplFlwr, because she gave me the idea that spawned this little creation. And simply because we're Yu-Gi-Oh fanatics (and she's so awesome, I want to cuddle her). Go read her writing right now, and that's an order.

**Warnings**: YAOI (that'd be boy x boy... but that's what you're here for, isn't it?), sexual situations between minors.

**Summary**: Highschool: a place of education and improvement. But beneath it all, it's a time of rampant desires and foolish mistakes—and there's so much tension, Yami scarcely knows what to make of it. YAOI - Seto x Yami x Bakura

**A/N**: Once again, just want to thank all the lovely souls who reviewed this measly offering of fanfiction. You have no idea how much it brightens my day to receive a review.

**Taut**

Part Three

Knock knock.

"Come in, Ryou."

Bakura sat on the soft covers of his bed, book open across his lap. Pages of text sprawled out over his black-clad legs, and he'd rather die than let anyone know of his passion for reading.

The door to his bedroom opened slowly, and to his surprise, rather than his brother, there stood Seto.

"Seto?" he inquired softly as he slipped the bookmark smoothly between the pages of his book, setting it aside on the bed stand. "What you doing here? You weren't supposed to come until tomorrow for my 'tutoring'." A soft smile curved his lips as he spoke, and it was such a contrast to the smirk habitually painted across his mouth. One would scarcely know it was Bakura, this smiling and intellectual boy.

"I missed you."

Seto moved swiftly across the room to settle down upon the mattress next to the smaller boy. A large hand reached out to cup pallid cheeks, and their lips met in gentle synchronicity. Bakura sighed against the light pressure of his lover's lips, and let himself forget his problems in that split second of time.

When they pulled away, reality returned, swooping in upon them with the solemn look that Seto bore.

"Bakura, this needs to stop."

Of course he knew what Seto was talking about; it was difficult not to. A sigh escaped his lips as the smile disappeared, and he ran a hand through his hair absently as if it would help him compose his thoughts.

"I should say the same to you."

It was Seto's turn to sigh, and he pulled the smaller boy against him, holding onto him firmly. Warmth spread throughout Bakura's frame, and he was grateful for the other's comforting presence. "I know."

In silence they sat, stewing in their own misery.

"You know," Bakura finally started, "you were the first one to use him."

Seto remained silent, breath tickling the delicate skin along Bakura's neck. "I know," he eventually replied, "and I wish I hadn't."

"I was jealous," Bakura continued, figuring it was best to be frank in situations such as these. "It hurt me that you played around with him."

"So that's why you stole him away from me," Seto finished his thought for him. Bakura nodded sadly, his hair falling down in front of his face like a curtain of solid moonlight. He burrowed further into Seto's embrace, feeling the beginnings of guilt gnawing painfully at his gut—a dull, tightening sensation that curled his innards and made him tremble.

"You're bad for him; you're ruining his perfect little world."

"I know. But you hurt him more than I ever have, Seto."

Fingers ran slowly through his hair, loosening tangles and knots in their way. Bakura closed his eyes and lay his head down against Seto's shoulder, drawing strength from the other boy. Only Seto was allowed to see how vulnerable he was, because he trusted the brunette. Seto never truly intended to hurt him.

"So what do we do now?" The question fell against deaf ears, and Bakura listened to the thrum of Seto's heartbeat as he tried to forget the soft intonations of Yami's voice.

* * *

Twelve fifty-six.

Yami walked slowly towards the park where he always met Seto, feet sliding reluctantly along. It'd been three weeks since he had come here, and he wondered if the brunette would even show.

He missed Seto, and he didn't know what to do anymore. The boy never answered his calls any longer.

Yami was expecting the small park to be deserted when he arrived. Much to his surprise, this was not the case.

Seto was there. With Bakura.

The two sat atop the monkey bars, hands and lips tangled together in an egregious tangle. The soft moonlight illuminated their figures, warping them into a single body—and with each second that Yami watched them, he could feel himself breaking further and further apart.

As Yami ran home, two sets of sorrowful eyes watched him go.

* * *

The soft melody sounded from his cell phone, and Yami wished it would just stop.

Three times already each of them had tried to call him. All six times he lay still in bed, listening to the familiar sound of his ring tone.

After the electronic notes ended, he would reach across the vast expanse of his lonely bed, taking the small cell phone within his hand. A few pressed buttons later, and he would hold the device up to his ear, listening to the new voicemail messages he had just received.

Call him a glutton for punishment, but he simply could not get the melody of their voices from out of his head.

_You have one new message, and six old messages._

The nondescript voice chimed through the speaker in his phone, and he pressed 1 like instructed to hear the new message.

_Yami, it's Bakura. I know you're listening to this, just like you have to the other three messages I've left. And I know it's probably a few minutes after you ignored my call, once again. … Look, I'm sorry. _We're_ sorry. We shouldn't have led you on like that, and we certainly should have told you what was going on sooner. So please, can we just all be mature now? Talk to us; we'll explain it all, if only you'll give us the chance._

The phone fell silent, and Yami realized he couldn't quite breathe as he stared into the darkness of his room.

* * *

The park looked ghostly in the wan moonlight of the crescent moon, reflecting shadows across the white canvas of his hands.

Bakura looked like a mere shadow in the dark, leaning against the slide where he used to wait for Seto.

"Yami." If words could have color, he imagined his name would have been a deep sable—somber and melancholic, and he wished Bakura wouldn't speak to him like that.

"Bakura," he replied, the cool night wind carrying his reply over to the other's waiting ears.

A soft smile blossomed across the other boy's face, and slowly he stepped forward. Yami watched as the hand lifted and pressed against his cheek, the chill of the night seeping into his skin. "You came."

"Stop stalling, Bakura."

The taller boy sighed and let his hand drop from the other's face, figure silhouetted in the ethereal light. "We're really sorry, Yami."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot the lanky brunette stepping out from behind the shadows of the slide.

"'Sorry' is just a word." Yami's chest felt leaden, as if there were a tight hand constricting around his lungs. He wasn't sure whether to believe any longer, or just brush aside the lies, like many frail spider webs.

"I know, but is it possible to just forget?" Bakura reached out once more, fingertips brushing against the unruly bangs in front of his eyes, sweeping them gently aside. "We do care a lot about you, Yami. Couldn't we simply start over—together?"

It hurt. It hurt so much when Bakura leaned close and he turned his face to the side. It hurt as Bakura's lips brushed against the soft curve of his cheek, and it hurt as he stared into Seto's dark eyes across the distance of the park.

It pained him so much, he wondered whether he would simply break.

"No. We can't."

Each step he took away from the park drove a nail into the beating, moist mass of his heart. And as he listened to Bakura's voice calling his name desperately, he wondered whether he made the right choice.

* * *

Someday, he figured he would look back to this time.

He would look back and see a lonely boy, one who craved comfort and care more than anything else. He would see a starving soul, salvaging any scrap that he could find. He would see saddened eyes and the forlorn curve of defeat on his neck.

He would see himself as he was now.

He would reflect back on these memories—because that is all he really has in the end. Just endless streams of memories, some painful, some inspiring, and others just a picture-perfect capture of normalcy. He would look back on the events, and study them; study the emotions attached to each memory, and wonder why the world likes to be so cruel to its inhabitants.

He would remember the sly curve of Bakura's lips, and the harsh pressure of his smile against his neck. He would remember the way he made him feel—dangerous and free, and oh so worshipped. He would remember the comfort that somehow swarmed him in Bakura's presence, and wonder over the fact of how someone so rebellious could be so nurturing.

He would remember the piercing stare of Seto's eyes, and the cutting edge of his cool words. He would remember the look on his face when he walked by, and the constant competition between them to see who was on top. He would remember the feel of his fingers upon the soft flesh of his stomach—unrestrained and empowering, and he would wonder why he was so attracted to him and his calm composure.

He would remember the events that spiraled between them—the passion and the heartbreak, and revel in the fact that his emotions were so rampant. He would treasure these memories, though they may sometimes be painful. Because, again, they would be all he has.

But for now, sitting on his empty bed, he just wanted to forget everything.

**-owari-**


End file.
